The Defrosted Journals
by Fusion-Corsair
Summary: Directly or indirectly, the travels of the Alpha Crusade to the Eye of Terror in their struggle against Chaos has affected many throughout the Imperium and elsewhere. Through arduous recordkeeping, these are but a smattering of short stories detailing the goings on of those connected to the Millennial in the 42nd Millennium.
1. Chapter 1

_From the journals of Midas Mitarion, Chapter Master, Gilded Aquilas, 0 358.030.M42_

The world beneath us was lifeless. The landscape was scorched, burned clean of all semblance of life. What had once been a world of science and progress had been deliberately devastated by the Imperium upon the cessation of active hostilities. They could take no chance that those who came before us were not fully corrupted by the Primarch whose gene-seed we were based off of. He had told me what he know of them - a charismatic individual who soon fell to serpentine seductions and abandoned his oaths to his Father.

We had come from Aurumios to examine what was left of the structures on Chemos, some of whom's structures still remained in fragments, concrete slabs of foundations jutting from the surface of the desolate world. Our dropships gracefully descended to the surface of the world, which still held an atmosphere - one whose deathly taste still filtered through the purifiers of my helmet. Soon, we landed near the ruins of the ancient fortress-monastery, crumbling remains of decayed gold and splintered marble scattered across the landscape as I was the first to emerge upon the surface of the fallen planet.

Though a cleansing of fire had ensured that nothing of Chaos remained visible from orbit, a wrench in my gut still took hold - a sign of some sort of trouble, still held within the orbitally bombarded ruins. Sergeant Iconos soon followed, Brother Pietas leading up the rear. We took lead of the chapter's forces, nine hundred and twenty-three battle-brothers in total, traveling towards the building's carcass. The last of us to descend crashed to the ground with a thump, the feet of the Contemptor Pattern Dreadnought crushing the ground beneath him further into cinders. When we had been formed, I had been told that we would receive a blessing to further give us knowledge from the ancient times, before our father turned to Chaos. While the Contemptor had given much insight into the traditions and customs of our forefathers, it seemed to be deliberately hiding its true identity.

"The opportunity is at hand for vengeance." Pietas stated, gilded armor polished to a fault over weeks of laboring by the chapter servitors. To not fall into the trap of perfection, he was sent through the same trial as all other battle-brothers. When the effects of the gene-seed began to wear away, when he desired of his own free will to replace the bespectacled plate with mere painted ceramite - then would he be ready for further advancement through the chapter's hierarchy. "For us to take another step on the path to perfection our ancestors deviated from."

"I see the gene-seed still has hold on you, Pietas..." Iconos responded - the only portion of his armor that remained gilt was the prominent Aquila on his chestplate, and soon he would be rid of that as well. We did not wear the winged skull of other chapters. The Aquila was always something special to us, something that we always held closer than a genericized symbol. A way for us to, even in these dark times, be reminded of our Father, the Emperor.

"My armor is the epitome of Astartes plate. I am extraordinarily close to true exemplary." He responded with a characteristic haughty attitude - all new Astartes had them, and it was expected that they would, in time, grow out of it and understand more of their purpose.

"That is what you do not understand, Brother." Iconos corrected him. "Perfection does not come from purity seals or the level of gilding applied to your armor. Perfection comes from knowing that your duty to the Imperium and its citizens is the righteous duty our Father demands of us. Our forebears forgot this - we shall not."

Further forward we marched, through what had once been beautiful arches, part of a grandiose pathway leading to the heart of the fortress-monastery. Now they remained silent, not even carcasses remaining. Yet the feeling of an unnatural presence here still remained. The Contemptor followed behind us as we reached what had once been the heart of the building - yet here nothing remained but fragmented shards of concrete.

"There is something here." With a rotation of its Kheres Assault Cannon, and a flurry of shells, a section of what had once been the floor collapsed, exposing a chasm beneath our feet. As the rubble settled, we gazed into the crevasse, eying a section of tunnel that would have run underneath the very depths of the fallen fortress. Movement briefly showed itself down beneath the tunnel before disappearing, a faint purple light exposed to the elements.

I led my supporting battle-brothers down a thin ridge on one side of the crack, the rubble having formed an exceptionally steep slope. Brother Demetrius was the only one of us to fall, his impact on the bottom of the detritus resonating with a loud clang before he slowly stood up. "Merry drop, was it?" The helmetless Iconos smiled as he looked at the fellow Gilded Aquila, plate heavily scuffed and scratched by the rock.

"Pleasure as always, sir." Demetrius gave a nod before turning back towards the tunnel opening, whose glow was now far more visible to us. Steady steps proceeded as the Contemptor followed us down, flattening the top of the mound with each step. I motioned to the others at the ridge to remain there - one had no idea what could attempt to overwhelm us.

We stepped further into the tunnel, light radiating within - a sickening light, unnatural in coloration. Inhuman sounds began to shriek from the malevolent cocktail of color further down the hall. Something was very wrong - and soon we discovered why.

A coven of Chaos worshippers were gathered in a circle - their flesh was inhumanly pale, irises nonexistent as they gazed into an intricate summoning circle, their shrieks organized in a perfect crescendo. This was a ritual most foul, and my power sword was soon raised as I charged forward.

A blinding light radiated, bright enough to leave our eyes in darkness as we found ourselves stunned by the sudden shock of nigh-perfection. All who had surrounded the circle were no more, their flesh and bone melting together, shifting and splintering like some inhuman golem as a serpent-like form began to coalesce. Four arms soon forced their way from the creature's torso, a horned head with penetrating eyes gazing back at us.

"Primarch." The dreadnought aimed its cannon at the daemonic entity that had once been a child of the Emperor.

"Rylanor." The voice echoed, a ripple in its tone. One could faintly make out the voice of the true Fulgrim before it was drowned out in a mesmerizing cocktail of echoes and alterations. "And here I expected that you had died during the Istvaan incident. How unfortunate. And it seems you found yourself more loyalists to beguile with the nonsense about loyalty to my father."

"You have never been what you once were since the day you took that blade." I remained silent, sword ready for action if and when it was needed.

"The blade was nothing more than a tool to my enlightenment. Now I have become something more - a student of limitless pleasure unknown by mere mortals. My domain is mine alone to shape as I please - who are you to claim any different?" Such a level of arrogance was beyond even that of a freshly forged scout.

"Do not seek to rationalize your deeds. Your hands are wrought with the blood of your brothers, and you shall not succeed with your plans. Not so long as I can function."

"Pah." The serpentine creature spat towards the construct, acidic venom etching a new gouge in its plate. "The last of my followers in the Materium have given me new life here. With you and your playthings gone, I shall have a galaxy to claim - a galaxy that even the so-called 'Warmaster' cannot take. I will bring my patron's ecstatic grip to every corner of the galaxy. Those who resist shall become new sensations to experience. Those who join me shall be rewarded with pleasure beyond their wildest dreams."

"Enough, daemon!" Iconos growled, bolter at the ready as he aimed it at the head of the beast. "Your foul whispers shall not pollute the minds of the Emperor's sons. Never again shall we be bewitched by such temptation!"

"How cute... The little sergeant seeks to deny me what I may take at any moment - but very well." With the cut of a blade, a rift was opened within the Warp, the ear-piercing noise of possessed sonic weaponry resonating as a group of Emperor's Children -our fallen predecessors - emerged. "My children shall deal with you until there is but one left - I shall savor his sensations personally."

We struggled against the chaotic warriors, beings with millennia of experience more than our time spent in the field combined. Despite this, we engaged the foul knaves in combat. A good deal died as we continued to fend off the ever-growing horde, nonwe of us able to contact our fellow brothers to gain their assistance.

Then Iconos fell. A mighty blade jutted through his abdomen, piercing straight through his armor as he soon found himself on his knees. Fulgrim had impaled him from behind with a horrifying weapon - a weapon that seemed so familiar.

"Enough!" With a grasp, Rylanor lurched forward, knocking the Daemon prince back and leaving the weapon impaled through the Sergeant's spine as both began to battle. Where marks from his daemonblades made contact with the Contemptor's chassis, spots of corrosion began to form - the same occurred around the entry and exit wound of the barely breathing Iconos. His gun was raised, and as he breathed his last, a round exited the barrel of his bolter, traveling into the flesh of the fallen Primarch as he screamed in sensation.

I removed my blade from the eye socket of another traitor marine. Pietas held his own as I turned the field generator on my blade to as high a setting as I could reach, bringing the weapon down upon the sword that had murdered not only a fellow Gilded Aquila, but a friend as well.

A splinter of the weapon soon shaved itself away from the larger blade, and I found myself grasping it, throwing it in a blind rage at the creature. Something opened, another warp gate forming across the one Fulgrim has summoned, the gates tearing one another to pieces in an inhuman way. He screamed a cry of what I figured to be pain or pleasure as Rylanor sent a great many rounds from his assault cannon through the daemon's chest. A close combat weapon plunged forward, piercing entirely through the body of the fallen Primarch even as two of his swords speared through the crew compartment of the Contemptor. The look on Fulgrim's face was a pure ecstasy before eyes closed and the body began to melt away, returning to the corrupt remains of cultists as it had once been.

"Cha... Chapter Master..." Pietas slowly stood to his feet, a hand liquified by the power of daemonic sonic weaponry. "I... Is this why we must remain quiet?"

"Yes. There is the potential for evil in everyone. We must deny ourselves it, unlike our fallen forebears."

"What can I say?" He spluttered. "We are doomed to suffer that monster's attention for eternity! Forever will he continue to try and force us into his fold... We will lose men by the hundreds to Slaanesh."

"Have faith, Pietas. Have faith. Things shall be better one day. I may not be here to see it, and neither may you, but mankind shall one day experience the perfect future our Father had planned for it to know. All will be right with the world then - but until that time, we must continue to perform what duty is demanded of us."

His head lowered in contemplation before he responded. "Chapter Master... I wish to undergo the Degilding upon return to Aurumios."

"You will be undergoing it here - we must protect this world from another such incident. It is only best for mankind."


	2. Chapter 2

_From the private journal of Sister Lia, 6 034.036.M42_

Things had taken another turn towards the heretical.

We had journied as a small portion of the Millennial's fleet to a world deep within the Eye of Terror. The Millennial himself had brought two chapters of Astartes - the Trench Cleavers and the Erinyes - to the world in order to assist in its cleansing and situating, for use as another advance base within the Warp vortex itself. But unlike we expected - daemons were not all that existed on the planet's surface.

As we cut our way through the landscape, following the path of orbital bombardments as turbolasers rained down from above, ruins slowly jutted up from the skyline, carcasses of ancient buildings from millennia ago. The buildings glistened, practically pulsating with an unnatural sheen as we further proceeded into them. Walls were bedecked with stones - most of which were dead and lifeless, though some showcased a sort of energy held within - xenos witchcraft.

In the middle of a circle, arranged from such stones, stood a masked individual - one known as a Solitaire, wearing the colors of Craftworld Lugganath. The Millennial gave an audible sigh as he stepped forwards, facing the accursed xenos. "Great... What do you want this time?" I saw the Sister-Superior's face grimace with rage at the indication of them having previously fraternized. Soon they were exchanging some sort of letters before the witch vanished into thin air.

"Alright... So apparently, there's a way we can do this." He said. "So the Solitaire told me that there's an STC - one capable of entirely purging one's body of disease. If we get this technology, and if we find out it can be reproduced - goodbye, fucking Nurgle. That's one Chaos God pretty much entirely neutered."

"And what sort of issues are there regarding this?" Sister Erebus responded. "Surely we cannot simply rush in and take it."

"Now here's the fun part..." He smirked, seemingly giddy over the whole affair. "This STC is in Commorragh. Home of the Dark Eldar. To make things even more interesting - the STC belongs to the biggest Archon in the city, Aurelia Malys." Cries of disunity already began to be aroused thanks to the ever-increasing discord.

"And how are we supposed to perform an assault against a foe who fight like cowards and refuse to reveal themselves?" An Erinyes sergeant perked up with frustration.

"Well... There's a Webway portal located here on this Crone World. I and a select number of fellow individuals shall travel to this horrific place and acquire the STC. We have a lot to get done if we want to pull this off - not to mention I kinda have a favor to pay."

"Heresy..." Muttered a Trench Cleaver under his breath.

"I basically - okay, assuming that this works, I will have to use a dosage of the Panacea to travel into the Warp, into the Garden of Nurgle, and rescue some Isha chick. No idea what importance she has, but apparently it's enough that they asked for her in exchange for the Panacea. I'm not a dick, so... Yeah. That's what we're doing."

Blockheaded as always.

* * *

 _Trench Cleaver log of Sergeant Theta-17, 6 083.036.M42_

The Inquisitor confused me. Despite the proscriptions of the Imperial Cult against consorting with xenos or utilizing corrupted technology, he seemed to pay no heed - occasionally chastising the naysayers with claims of "common sense" and "everyone else is fucking insane." Apparently, back in his time, the concepts as laid out in the Imperium did not exist, though the Emperor himself did indeed walk upon the sacred ground of Holy Terra. Despite these misgivings, it was he who blessed our homeworld with the gift of an Astartes chapter - who oversaw the year-long process of ensuring the first of our number were compatible with gene-seed despite our less than natural origin.

Cautiously, he grasped a holographic image, which showcased a pathway through the Webway to a Commorragh entrance, as indicated to him by the disguised xenos. We were nearing the location of the Webway portal itself, when a bright green beam of energy arced over our heads. Sergeant Uzziah of the Erinyes raised his chainsword menacingly, looking to eye what precisely was on the other side of the open pathway. Skeletal figures had taken up positions around the portal - Necrons. How they had managed to reach this world was a mystery, but considering that the Webway apparently did not act in the same form or fashion as the Warp, it was not implausible for them to have come through.

With our utili-tools, we swiftly dug into the crumbling stone, the energy fields forming a swarm of dust that our autosenses filtered out. In mere seconds, we were dug in, a shallow makeshift trench line having formed. Together we kneeled as one, bolter fire raining down upon the monstrous silver mechanons. They advanced further towards us, only for our weapons to cut them down. Despite this - they continued to rise up, shattered limbs slowly mending as the nightmarish horde slowly approached. Some of our number readied their utili-tools for use in another purpose - but we had no need. The Erinyes lept over our line, chainaxes whirring as the grate of ceramite teeth against renewing metal. I distinctly watched as Sergeant Uzziah grasped the spine of a Necron warrior, tearing it away from the monster's ribcage and snapping whatever circuits kept the synthetic creature active before dropping it to the ground and crushing its skull into a puddle of molten quicksilver.

With our battle-brothers on the offensive, we charged forward, leaping from our trenches and engaging the Necrons up close as well. The sudden rush of two groups of Astartes seemed to overwhelm whatever sort of scouting force the Necrons had sent through the Webway. The result was swift and utter annihilation of our enemy - those who could phased out, while those who were too damaged slowly dissolved into naught but a liquid-like form. "Apothecary - how many did we lose?"

"Twenty-two casualties." He responded. "Five were killed. Seventeen were injured. I will begin the process of extracting their gene-seed." With that, he turned away from me - more deaths of fellow Astartes was unfortunate, but an inevitability. One day, we would all be cut down in battle against the foes of the Emperor. To fear death is heresy. To avoid it is futile. Honor is best gained through sacrifice.

The Inquisitor turned to us, giving a soft sigh as he stared at the bodies of the fallen battle-brothers. "Fucking dammit... Emperor bless 'em. They died fulfilling the mission he's set forth. For those like you guys - that's the highest honor I can think of." In truth, I doubted the sincerity of his belief in our Father the Emperor - though some from the Knights Inductor viewed him as nothing more than an Inquisitor with reasonable forms of dedication towards His efforts, others held more radical views. The Knights Repentant in particular viewed him as a sort of Living Saint, blessed by the Emperor with an ethereal touch unseen in ordinary men, though their beliefs were largely shaped around their worship and devotion to the Emperor. While he walked on the same ground as our Father, there was nothing truly supernatural about him. He rationalized his arguments with facts and study, never once showcasing even the slightest glimmer of His light within.

Yet he had not a single sign of corruption by Chaos.

* * *

 _Log of Erinyes Battle-Brother Tisiphonus,_ _6 086.036.M42_

Our journey through the Webway remained perilous. It had taken the full psychic force of the Trench Cleavers' Librarian to activate the xenos relic. I could sense the distaste in the air for our usage of an abominable artifact, but to acquire the STC, we had no other choice. A cure for diseases, a method to make even the weakest of mankind impervious to the corruption of one of the Chaos Gods... It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Perhaps this technology could be used to destroy once and for all the traitorous Astartes of the Death Guard, and their accursed daemon of a Primarch, Mortarion.

Our weapons were consistently ready for action, and more than once were we forced to fire upon the beings within the shimmering tunnels. Large brain-like entities exploded under our bolter shells as we followed the Inquisitor, traversing deeper into the cavern-like arteries of the Webway even as we pondered whether we would be stuck here for eternity.

Soon, however, we were brought upon an inordinate sight - within this corner of the Webway was a man, of exceptional stature above even our own. His eyebrows and beard were strong and defiant, even as he found himself once more lashed by the razorflail of a Dark Eldar wych. A gathering of the malignant xenos surrounded him, watching and reveling in the pain and suffering he was experiencing, as though it was their only source of entertainment. The Millennial motioned for us to get into firing position from a distance as he slowly walked forward, the joints of his armor deliberately disabled to keep his approach silent as he slowly trudged towards the gathering.

Before we could act, the man locked eyes upon the Inquisitor, and with a burst of strength lept forward, grasping the flagellating wych by the throat and crumpling her windpipe. Sergeant Uzziah believed this to be a good opportunity to engage the enemy, and it was for this reason that we Erinyes yelled as one, charging forward with chainaxes ready.

I was surprised by the lethargy of the Dark Eldar. Though they looked as normal as heretical xenos scum could appear, their motions were dulled, their senses crippled as though they had glutted themselves on too much food for their stomachs to handle. For the most part, we were able to dispatch them, our weapons satiated with the blood of the foul enemies of mankind even as others of their ilk retreated further into the confines of the Webway. In due time, all that remained were us and the man before us.

"So..." The Millennial stepped towards the man, ignoring both the copious quantity of scars that covered his flesh and the fact that he wore not a stitch of clothing. "What were those crazy fuckers trying to do to you?"

"They..." He gasped, finding even managing a full breath to be a painful experience. "They attempted to break my spirit. I am far stronger than anything they have captured - even a taste sated their appetite far beyond what they were able to experience." He slowly stood up. "Who are you, and what are you doing here in the Webway? Were you sent to find me?"

"Um... No..." The Inquisitor scratched his head for a moment, trying his best to save face. "But we found you, so I guess everything turned out alright... right?"

"I have been stuck in this hell of an experience for millennia. I spent thousands of years wandering these maddening halls, my sanity slowly slipping away before I finally failed in my duty and was captured by these monstrous creatures. I have been subjected to horrors no man should ever be forced to undergo. Do not EVER -" He lurched towards the Inquisitor, intimidating him into taking a step back - "claim to me that this has turned out alright. They took something from me that I shall never be able to regain."

"O... Okay." A frustrated sigh crossed the lips of the Millennial. I had never seen him so... so humbled. This was a man who had accrued honor in combat from the destruction of many champions of the Chaos Gods - yet here he stood, on the verge of whimpering like a scared puppy. As my mind cleared, I spoke up, recognition of the man finally beginning to come to my mind.

"Hail Primarch Khan of the White Scars!"


	3. Chapter 3

_Journal of Dante Stopheles, High Claviarii, Brotherhood of the Key, 9 367.057.M42_

Per my duty as the keeper of hidden knowledge within our chapter, I stayed in my room, analyzing the various holorecordings, pict-captures, and remembrancer descriptions of our founding. The information contained within these detailed fragments could not be allowed to fall into the hands of anyone. Despite the fact that we had passed trials to showcase our purity as Astartes, were information to ever leak that we and others were formed from the remains of traitor legions, overzealous Puritans in the Inquisition would likely assail us with the help of their Chambers Militant. Not even the Millennial himself could save us from the fate we would be forced to experience, all that we had done becoming annihilated in a fraction of a moment.

It was for this reason that I had been entrusted with our chapter's High Claviarii, I would hold the most hidden knowledge of the Astartes chapters once forged by the enigmatic individual known as the Millennial. We had heard little of him since the initial expedition into the Eye of Terror - the formation of a bastion into the realm of Chaos itself, a strike back against the infernal forces that eternally plotted our damnation.

Half our number had been requested by another Inquisitor, a Miss Amberley Vail, to pursue reports of a Tyranid Hive Fleet festering on the borders of the Imperium. This Hive Fleet, designated as Perseus, had previously been encountered by the Ultramarines, who soon drove them out of the Segmentum Ultima and into the galactic fringe. Our goal, according to this member of the Ordo Xenos, was to determine the status of the alien monstrosities in question - find whether they had consumed new worlds unknown to us, whether they had fallen into a state of hibernation, or whether they had starved to death. We were also to investigate the lifeless world of Adri's Hope, believed to have been rendered such by a monstrous Tyranid creature over the span of three weeks.

Sent to assist us were members of the Deathwatch - black-clad Astartes fervently devoted to the proper extermination of the foul xenos. But these were not ordinary - several kill-teams of Blackshields were who found themselves on board our Strike Cruiser. A very unnatural number given that they were often considered to be the outcasts of their Watch, but their commander, Pironus, had apparently ordered them to come. To deny them would be an offense to some of the finest in the Orders Militant of the Ordo Xenos.

Rumors had spread as to the former identities of such a large number of Blackshields. The common belief was that they were outcasts from the Enclave, the Astartes discovered in the Eye of Terror as the remnants of the Abyssal Crusade. We knew the story well - an apostate managed to use his sly words to manipulate many chapters of our brethren into a futile crusade within the Warp rift, leading them to damnation as Astartes after Astartes fell to the corruption of Chaos. Only the Vorpal Swords had returned intact to denounce him as a traitor - all others were believed lost.

Yet we were blessed to know the truth.

A message received by the Millennial had indicated a loyalist presence on a world near the fringes of the Eye's grasp - on a Dead World known as Enclave. It was there that the four chapters whose fate had remained unknown - the Blades Eternal, the Chorus of Eltain, the Fists of Olchis, and the Prophets of Mercury - found themselves united in brotherhood, struggling to survive against repeated Chaos Space Marine attacks as their numbers were slowly shaved down. The ruins of their broken vessels littered the landscape of the world, and soon they shed their identities as individual units of Astartes, becoming the group known as the Enclave. It was rumored that other chapters, sent to the Eye of Terror for seeming misdeeds, had also found their way within the Enclave, becoming united in purpose rather than in chapter.

That said, we had not received any reports, publicly or clandestinely, stating that such Astartes were to be brought with us. Whatever their reason for being here was, there was no rationale to deny them. Not now, anyways.

* * *

 _Journal of Battle-Brother Allectus, Erinyes, 4 956.057.M42_

My blood burned with a righteous fury, and my lips were barely able to resist uttering words of damnation against what we were witnessing. We had been ordered by Chapter Master Megaerus to observe the situation on the world of Belial IV. The spectral wisps of fallen xenos still lived on in this place, but our Librarians were aptly skilled in banishment techniques, sending the alien spirits back to whatever damnation they now experienced.

Below us, within a lifeless valley on the corrupt world's surface, two forces battled one another - forces of corrupt Astartes, once more experiencing their perfidious infighting that further twisted the Emperor's sons against one another. On one side stood a force of warriors armored in murky verdigris, their topknots showcased along with the many symbols adorning their armor. These were the 'True Sons,' a cult of Space Marines from the fallen legion known as the Luna Wolves. Despite our Father slaying his wretched son, still these cretins worshipped him as a god - and from what we could gather, they were here to sacrifice xenotech to the one they viewed as a deity.

On the other side stood a cacophony of Black Legionnaires - their equipment tattered and torn. The Oath-Broken, as they were evidently known, were the lowest of the low - not only had they turned away from the Emperor's light. They had also failed the usurper of Horus, the twice-damned traitor once named Ezekyle Abaddon. They were scum, not fit to lick the boot of a loyal Battle-Brother.

The True Sons raised a tattered war banner, the infernal Eye of Horus looking out upon the heavily wounded Chaos Space Marines before their leader raised a sword, pointing it at the Black Legionnaires as they rushed forward, ready for the kill. The carnage grew intense as the already tarnished forces began to slaughter each other wholesale, viridian and charcoal-armored Astartes collapsing to the ground from fatal injuries.

The leader of the Oath-Broken, who appeared to be a Chaos Sorcerer of some sort with a broken staff, raised himself up, engaging in combat with the nearest corrupt Astartes and sending a bolt of hellish energy through his torso. Internally, I smiled - when heretics destroyed one another, they were doing our work for us, thinning their numbers so they could be sent back to their false patrons in failure, their souls forfeit.

Brother-Sergeant Orion waited patiently for a critical moment within the battle, as the number of corpses grew and the number of combatants dwindled. At last, a sliver of both sides remained - the Chaos Sorcerer and two True Sons. With that, he gave the signal, our bolter fire raining down upon the unexpected foes. They were unprepared to protect against our attack, and soon fell to the ground, lifeless like the rest of their disgusting fellows.

"Pathetic Chaos-worshipping fiends." Sneered Orion. "Do they not realize their eternal damnation is at hand? Horus cannot save them now, nor can that accursed Abaddon." He enjoyed exterminating the vile traitors, that I knew - even as more Thunderhawks landed with reinforcements from the White Legion. I knew their origin - that their gene-seed had been that of the few pure Luna Wolves, stored away over the millennia since the heresy. I, as well as Orion, had served with the Millennial during his initial sojourn into the Eye of Terror. We were informed of what he had done - of how we were the last vestige of purity in the long corrupted legions of Astartes.

Librarian Aximus of the White Legion soon joined us, gazing out over the battlefield. "I can sense it. The pain. The suffering. He is pleased... They were... Here?" He fell to his knees as I soon rushed forward to support him.

"What? What do you see, Librarian?"

"Darkness." He responded. "Darkness comes. A tide of Chaos is sweeping towards this world. We must prepare for its onslaught."

"What of the Enclave? Are they..."

"They shall swoop down upon the world, purging the blight with bolter and chainsword. Rest, they shall not, for The Purge shall end only when the last darkness is cleansed..." With those words, he fell into a healing trance - his body wracked with an almost unnatural shudder as he fell face-first to the ground, shivering. Blood seeped from his nostrils, though breath still exited his lips.

Chapters of Astartes. Left for millennia within the Eye of Terror. The Relictors, the remnants of the Grey Slayers... even those survivors of the Abyssal Crusade who had never returned to the Imperium. That they had continued to fight the abominations of this infernal realm, with no support other than what they had been able to accrue, was truly remarkable, a testament to their faith in our Father. That their loyalty to mankind proved too strong for the heresy laid within the Imperium to subvert was... intriguing.

"We shall take the bodies of these traitors." Uttered Orion. "We shall cleanse their armor of heresy and preserve it for future use, should it be needed."

"Brother-Sergeant..." A question was now raised by by the young Porphyrus. "Why do we reuse armor that has been worn for millennia by those who abandoned the Emperor's light for the desires of their own hearts? Should we not stray from a closeness to such armor?"

"Whenever a piece of armor is still pure enough that it may be cleansed, the very sensation of the corruption being purged from it through the Rites of Perdition is an attack against Chaos. Those infernal enemies of mankind feel pain whenever their presence is driven from metal. There are some instances, admittedly, where the presence of the Great Enemy is so deeply entrenched within the ceramite plate that it must be destroyed instead of purified. Those are judged by the Purificatus. Weapons are also to be cleansed - depending on what they are. Daemon Weapons and the infernal contraptions of Chaos are never to be used - their destruction is of great import. And, in due time, we shall recover a relic of unimaginable import to the Emperor."

"A... A relic?" Porphyrus was confused. "Was our purpose not to exterminate a section of the Black Legion to further blunt a potential assault on Cadia?"

"Officially." Orion responded. "But we are here for other reasons as well." Looking up into the distorted starlit sky, he gazed out into the warped cosmos. "There is a world where a relic once crafted by the Primarch Ferrus Manus himself is located. That world is one we shall beseige - and one whose inhabitants we shall purge for the Emperor. The weapon shall be purified and presented to our brothers in the Iron Hands as an everlasting symbol of our support."

When the day would come that we would assault Medrengard, we would be ready. The Astartes of the Erinyes would be prepared to purge the Daemon World of life, slaying countless Iron Warriors along the way before reclaiming that which was the rightful property of the Iron Hands. We would gather with other Chapters, overwhelm them and utterly annihilate the vile traitors from the face of the galaxy. We would further cleanse worlds within the Warp vortex, dedicating their purging to the Emperor as we took them, using them as bastions for deeper incursions into the Warp. We would recover more artefacts of the Primarchs - of the Emperor's creation, perhaps, long left to worlds swallowed by the Chaos Astartes whose blood would be spilled as a sacrifice to the Emperor.

At least, as long as the Blood Ravens never stole it before we acquired it. But such could never happen.

Could it?


	4. Chapter 4

_Plague Planet, 9 XXX.060.M42 (Records declared Extremis Diabolus by Ordo Malleus)_

The world was a festering hellpit. The sickening paradigm of the fallen Primarch's homeworld of Barbarus was a foul recreation of the youthful memories he had once experienced. Many millennia ago, Mortarion had freed the people of his world, his adopted brothers and sisters, from the tyrannical overlords who had tormented them for their own sick and twisted pleasure. Yet in a cruel irony, he now sat upon the slime and pus-ridden throne atop the noxious clouds of plague-gas, lording over those beneath him like the man who had raised him in such cruelty.

Before him stood the maleficent form of the one who had brought him to this state. The ancient suit of Terminator armor he wore was long encrusted with filth and bile, spurs of pestilential bone forcing themselves from his back through the shattered and twisted adamantium. Great gouts of green smoke flowed from the bone-tubes, Warp flies entering and exiting his body at a whim as he directed the horn fused to his head and helm. This was Typhus - and for what reason he had come to visit his Primarch, one knew naught.

"Have you come to take your place among us?" The winged form of the Death Lord grasped _Silence_ loosely. "Have you come to rule over your home?"

"No..." The sickening voice of the bloated Chaos Lord resonated throughout the throne room. "You have failed in your duties to Father Nurgle. You have not brought forth sickness and decay throughout the galaxy to strengthen his domain." He firmly grasped _Manreaper_ with his two hands, stepping closer to his 'father.'

"And that is why I have come with a warning. You are to wreak havoc in the name of Nurgle. Spread the gifts within your blessed body throughout the galaxy and wreak havoc upon the domain of the Corpse-Emperor. Then the suffering of your people shall swell ten times over as they further beg for the Prince of Plagues to deliver them from your wrath. But should you choose to ignore his warning, your time as his most favored... shall come to an end."

The daemonic Primarch pondered the message from his favored son - the one who had brought him into the servitude of the Dark Gods. "I shall pursue the agenda I have followed since achieving this state. Do not challenge me, Typhus."

Deliberately ignorant of the words of his father, the hulking brute stepped forward, blade raised. A pair of Deathshroud rose to meet him, their bodies infested with bilious corruption as they raised their own Power Scythes, moving to protect their father. Yet a single swift stroke was all that it took to cleave the fallen Terminators in two, bifurcating them diagonally as their cleaved forms slowly dissolved into pools of slop, decaying bone floating to the top of the puddles. "I am the Chosen of Nurgle. Your sentimentality sickens me. Let us determine this day as to who is His chosen."

For the first time in millennia, the daemonic Primarch stood. Rotting wings jutted in an almost graceful manner from Mortarion's back as he raised _Silence_ , the great Power Scythe he had utilized for millennia. "You have one final opportunity, Typhus. Leave and do not return."

"You were but the harbinger which the King of Endless Perfidy used to spread his blessings. I am not loyal to you, _gene-father_. I am loyal to my true father - to Nurgle, Liege of Buboes, Prince of Plague, and Master of Disease. His forces are strong when mortals fear death - and when I offer your rotted heart to Nurgle, that he may make more vile diseases to spread across the galaxy, I shall take true leadership of the Death Guard and we shall begin a pandemic that shall tear the Imperium asunder." He raised his own Daemon Weapon, scythe dripping pus from its corroded blade as fleshy bile further grew on its shaft. "The flesh sacrificed to Nurgle at my hands is innumerable in measure. Yet you merely sulk upon your throne."

"Silence!" Mortarion swung his weapon, which connected with _Manreaper_ blade to blade. "I am free of my Father's commands. I may do as I wish - and none is your concern." The two curved blades clashed once more, engaging one another in the depths of Mortarion's sanctum atop the highest mountain on the Plague Planet.

"You are free to fail at your duties as a servant of the Plaguefather." Typhus responded, a strike nearly impaling the daemon prince's shoulder. "Must I remind you of the humiliation you experienced at the hands of that foul servant of the Emperor? How he inscribed a name upon your broken heart as your body succumbed to fatigue and wear? No champion of Nurgle deserves his position through such experience."

Anger rose up through the Primarch as he rescinded his scythe, sending Typhus back several feet with a strike to the face from its pommel that left a barely discernable dent in the corrupted adamantium of his helmet. "I was the one who made you! I gave you whatever power you once held in the Death Guard. And now you _dare_ defy me?"

"It is not your will to be defied. It is that of the Plague Lord. The Master of Pestilence. You are not my master. From the moment the rot of Nurgle was seeded within my heart, you lost all claim to me." Typhus swiftly recovered from the attack, swinging at the maleficent Mortarion as he grazed the ancient filth incrusted armor of the _Barbaran Plate_.

"I will end you, Typhus."

"No." The former First Captain responded, before bringing a gauntleted hand to his helmet. Ooze rushed down the shoulder plates of his armor as his face was exposed for the first time in millennia, the visage haunting, like that of a mummified skull with the faintest flicker of life in its eyes. Foul maggots dripped from his shriveled lips as his rotten teeth shifted into the shape of a grin. And with a single word uttered from the mouth of Nurgle's champion, Mortarion dropped to the ground, barely stable as he attempted to gain another foothold.

"Where... Where did you hear that name?"

"I have my ways... but now, you shall be spurred to support the armies of the Plague Lord, whether you desire to or not. It is inevitable... my Lord."

And with a single strike, a torch was passed down.

* * *

S _avarus, Subsector Venenus, 686.061.M42_

"You know, I don't think I've ever explained how much I fucking hate infighting."

The Millennial paced back and forth upon the bridge of the _Eclipse_ , frustration evident in his voice. While the Alpha Crusade had accomplished its initial goals, with a myriad of daemons slain and worlds in the Eye becoming outposts for the Imperium to deal with attacks by the forces of Abaddon, he found himself being drawn more and more persistently back to the Imperium. Strife continually arose throughout the millions of worlds under humanity's control, and though he was an Inquisitor, he found himself redirected consistently by the Inqusitor Lords above him. On this occasion, the man he was 'running an errand for,' as he had termed it, was Fyodor Karamazov, the infamous Pyrophant Judge of Salem Proctor.

The world of Savarus Primus had been under seige by xenos forces of a malevolent type - the steel automatons of the Necrons from the Tomb World of Sarkon were beseiging the planet. Three chapters of Astartes - the Absolvers, the Tempest Guard, and the Emperor's Wolves - had fallen to the overwhelming onslaught of the Necrons, forced to retreat with their numbers devastated, lest they be forever wiped from the history of the Imperium. To form a defense against the infamous foes of mankind, the planetary governor of Savarus Primus had apparently enlisted the help of a group of rogue tech-priests - students of the Levelist philosophies of Nomen Ryne - to develop a form of genetic super-soldier. These super-soldiers were not only a violation of Mechanicus principle - they were also heresy in the eyes of the Ordo Hereticus, deliberate mutilation of the sacred human form.

Evidence pointed to a siphoning of orphaned women from the world's Schola Progenium, originally destined for the halls of the Sororitas, as the source of subjects for these horrendous experiments - but the results had been surprising. In numbers that no Codex-following Astartes chapter could muster, these 'Amazonians,' as they had been called, were driving back the Necrons, their bodies armored in the most durable carapace armor the world's meager forges could craft. And with the siege now broken, the Mechanicus had demanded the governor's head and the death of the test subjects - as well as the annihilation of the rogue tech-priests.

"Inquisitor, you know that negativity is not a solution to this crisis." Dalia responded, her flesh still shimmering with sparks. "We must take the governor into custody and deal with his situation delicately."

"Dalia... you do realize I don't have much of a fucking choice, right? Not with Inquisitor Lord Crazypantsoff on my ass twenty-four seven." He grimaced. "And the Mechanicus too... The deluded shitstorm. I swear, there's no right solution."

"You'll determine something. You always do." She responded, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder as the main lift opened, revealing the form of several power-armored Astartes, their glistening black plate a sign as to their chapter loyalties, iron cross adorning their pauldrons.

"Inquisitor, have you yet determined your plan of attack so we may bring this heresy to an end?" Marshal Theseus Cybuyus was the commander of the crusading force of Black Templars that had soon aligned themselves with the Millennial, seeing the Alpha Crusade as an opportunity to slaughter the foes of the Imperium - including the vile traitors of the Horus Heresy - within their own territory. Though he relished the destruction of heretics, Theseus viewed the incident on Savarus as a stumbling block, causing the crusade to falter.

"Not yet, Marshal." The Millennial shifted in his suit of Ignatus power armor, looking down upon the many scars and dings that the relic had gathered before turning his attention to the Mechanicus emissary. "Adamaris... is there anything I can possibly do to get the Mechanicus off my back?"

Unlike most tech-priests, Adamaris Jonquil had been fitted with a single mechadendrite, in concert with her cybernetic legs. Her master, Magos Xenologist Erlan Klute, found his own crusade against the Tyranids stymied by the assault of the Necrons on Savarus as he deviated to the world. His belief in the philosophy of Primus Humanum, that the pure human form was what best served as a vessel for knowledge blessed by the Emperor, ensured that the fire within his artificial heart would be stirred thanks to the abhorrant genetics program.

"Nary a single thing will stop my master from purging the world of the taint of Hereteks. That said, he desires no conflict with the Inquisition." She was... oddly rational, and the young Inquisitor took a mental note of her tendencies to approach solutions from a more sensible angle.

"Dammit... Well, I guess that leaves me with no choice." He turned to the Black Templar. "I need a squad of Battle-Brothers. Preferably those who can show patience. What I intend to do is, to say the least, risky business, and I have no intentions of seeing people get wantonly killed over this if there's no reason for blood to be shed. Admittedly, I don't read my daily devotional quotes as much as I probably should - considering there are hundreds of thousands of them and enough variations to make my head spin. That said, I suppose I'm reminded of one that fits my philosophy." He turned away, gazing out into space as he eyed the crimson cog-ships surrounding the world.

"Life is the Emperor's currency. Spend it well."


	5. Chapter 5

S _avarus, Subsector Venenus, 4 686.061.M42_

The Arvus Lighter would descend to the surface of the planet, its cramped interior stuffed to the brim with a squad of five Black Templars. The Millennial sat in the cockpit of the ponderous craft, which soon dove into the atmosphere of Savarus Primus. Eerily enough, no gunfire responded to their unplanned descent, and it was made relatively obvious why this was the case - the surface of the world still blazed with the fires of war. The carcasses of PDF Chimeras littered the landscape. Blown open Manticores rested next to mangled Leman Russ tanks, their turrets at odd angles as one or more side of their boxy chassis was melted away by the superheated power of Necron weaponry. Yet the world's ruins were not solely Imperial - the ruined wreckage of Necron vehicles littered the landscape as well, the blown-out carcass of a Monolith resting upon its side. The slagged-out chassis of a Shadowsword rested several hundred meters north - it too was blown out, upper superstructure covered by the melted remains of its experimental Mk II Teracharge Volcano Cannon.

Ahead rested Kanandis Hive - the capital of the world and the location of the planetary governor's palace. The void shields were raised over the hive city - assumedly a protection against orbital bombardment, though the Arvus Lighter was still able to reach the landing pads of Kanandis and lower itself to the world's surface.

The Black Templars disembarked first, their bolters at the ready to engage whatever came upon them. As the Millennial exited the craft, he soon realized why they had fallen silent.

"Fuck."

Surrounding the transport, clad in suits of carapace armor, wielding the sacred armament of bolter and chainsword, were the hulking forms of what the Millennial assumed were the so-called 'Amazonians.' Their forms were vaguely feminine, slightly wider hips and an angled chestplate revealing their gender. To the untrained eye, their hulking forms could almost be mistaken at first glance for an Astartes - their bodies were ridden with muscle, supporting the layers of armaplas and ceramite forged into armor for the seven foot tall warriors. The plates were inscribed with litanies to the God-Emperor, purity seals expressing faith in the Imperium's power to purge all xenos filth from the galaxy. Certainly these were women forged in a tumultuous environment, but despite their deviancy as gene-altered warriors, similar to those that had trodden in service to the Terran techno-barbarians of ages past, their faith seemed... true.

Of the Amazonians, one stepped forward. Slightly taller than her fellows, she dwarfed the power-armored Inquisitor by a full head, inches above her cohorts. Perhaps it was because she was wearing powered armor - perhaps not. She was clearly some sort of leader amongst these forces.

"I am Corva Artaxus. High Janissarius of the Amazonian Guardians of Savarus, Slayer of the Sarkoni Overlord, and Purgator of the Severed Swarm. You will come with me and not show resistance, lest your deaths be required."

"A false Astartes..." The voice of one of the Black Templars perked up, before the Millennial raised a hand, motioning for him and his fellows to lower their weapons.

"Alright. Fair point. Take us to your..." He paused. "Yeah, no, I'm not gonna be cliche about this shit. Let's just go to the planetary governor, alright?" Swiftly, he motioned for the High Janissarius to lead them from the landing pad to the palace itself, and she did so as her fellow Amazonians gathered tightly around the Astartes.

It was several minutes travel through the weaving passageways of the catacomb-like hive city. Were it not for Corva guiding the group, he would've been lost, though the Astartes were likely scanning every step of the way, mentally memorizing it within their altered brains. Soon, they arrived at the doors of the palace, the Imperial Aquila engraved upon them split in half as they were opened. Upon the throne sat the planetary governor - a young man with blonde hair. He was clearly in distress, beads of sweat growing on his forehead only to trickle down around his augmented optics.

"So you're the one I can blame for all of this, eh, governor?" The Millennial crossed his arms, showing little sympathy as he eyed the pair of heavily augmented tech-priests flanking the leader of Savarus Primaris. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused me any the crusade?"

"Calm yourself, Inquisitor. I'm certain this is a... a misunderstanding. Yes." The governor nervously placed his fingers together in thought, eying the Volkite Serpenta holstered on the Millennial's hip. "I am Governor Sigvald. A pleasure to... make your acquaintance."

He was not amused. "Misunderstanding... Christ, you guys really love your fucking misunderstandings." The Millennial's hand clanged against his helmet in frustration, palm running over the glowing green sight-sensors. "Look. There are two ways we can do this. Either you come with me, and I turn you over to the Mechanicus for them to do whatever the fuck they want because you've been bad, and I deliver the corpses of the dead Amazonians to them and say that was all I found... Or you kill me and this planet gets fucking nuked. Do you want your entire planet nuked? Do you?"

"My lord... he does raise a point. We will all be destroyed in the event that the Mechanicus chooses to deploy cyclonic torpedoes on this world." Corva responded, doffing her helmet to reveal black braids, mocha skin contrasting her piercing eyes which were almost as green as the lenses in the Millennial's helmet.

"Look, I'm gonna be real with you. You never had the necessary strength to deal with the Necrons. You choosing to commit tech-heresy - as silly a thing as I consider it to be - was inevitably gonna bring the Mechanicus to your door. I'm sorry, but you're gonna get hit with shit regardless of which side of the stick you choose." The Millennial gave a sigh that filtered through his helmet vox-systems. "Again, I wish there was something that I could do, but you put yourself in this situation, and I inevitably will get fucked by that fleet if you don't turn yourself in."

"Pah..." The governor stood from his chair. "And who are you to judge my actions? Have you been forced into such a situation before? Where you had to defy conventionality to survive another day? Where you had to slip from your oh so devout devotion to the Imperial Creed to ensure complete and total victory? What I did, I did to ensure that my people would live another day. I have not the endless resources of the Imperium to divert to my whim, nor the military might to weather the storm. Would you have done anything different?"

The Millennial pored over the words of the governor. "No. I guess I wouldn't. This galaxy's all about survival of the fittest, isn't it? But there are some things that should've been left to lie." He turned halfway away from the governor before continuing. "But I suppose there's one thing I wouldn't be doing. I'd be facing the consequences of my actions like a man and not be cowering away in here. The galaxy isn't a place for fucking pussy-ass bitches, and as much as I wish Darwin wasn't true regarding culture, he was right. The strong survive. The weak perish. Survival of the fittest. Now are you going to be strong, or am I going to have to drag you off that chair like a pansy?"

"No. I-" were the last words of the governor before one of the flanking tech-priests pierced his skull with a mechadendrite. The red-robed figure then hunched over, collapsing in a pile of parts. The other soon did the same - and as the whirring of miniature gears and hum of optics slowly dissipated, their true nature as automatons were revealed. Evidently, the governor had never been consorting with Hereteks at all - only facsimilies, artificial beings who believed themselves alive. The infamous False-Men constructed by the followers of Nomen Ryne had proven their illusiveness once more while revealing the cowardice of the governor - never willing to face his fate. With time no longer on his side, the Millennial turned to face Corva.

"Alright, so here's the deal. I reckon we have a few hours until the Mechanicus decide to send a search party to determine if I'm still alive. Get all your sisters together and let's get the hell off this rock. We'll leave the gene-foundries, one of the fake tech-priests, and the bodies of the dead Amazonians for them to study. Maybe the husk of this machine can explain some things."

"What heresy are you attempting to perform, Inquisitor?" Marshal Theseus took up an antagonistic stance, weapon ready to strike at the slightest hint of heresy.

"Calm yourself, Marshal. First, they'll be tested to see if any of their DNA is inhuman. Then we'll bathe them in holy water - if they survive that with no evidence of corruption, then I'll go ahead and turn them over to you so you can determine their purity through whatever methods you use. And if they're still deemed pure servants of the Emperor after that - well, I guess there aren't exactly any excuses, are there? Besides, you're Space Marines. If something happens, you can handle it - and the chances of the taint of Chaos or xenotech not showing up after two sets of trials would be pretty fucking shocking."

Opening a channel to Genetor Adamaris, the Millennial soon provided closure to the ordeal. "Governor's dead. Executed him for heresy, blah blah blah... The tech-priests were machines. They weren't real. We killed the warriors we could find and are keeping some of the corpses for testing to determine how impure they may be - this could be endemic of a greater problem. Tell your Magos that I hope he finds some good shit on the planet's surface - think I saw the carcass of a Shadowsword and some Necron stuff. Nice having you on board."

With the cessation of the message, which he knew Adamaris would retransmit to Magos Biologis Klute, he motioned for the group to follow him. "Get your people to ship and have them meet up with our flagship. You can't miss it - it's the old battleship that looks like it was hauled out of a holding yard."

With that, the party would once again split up. The Millennial and the Black Templars would return to the cramped Arvus Lighter, traveling from the world's surface even as the _Eclipse's_ systems detected Mechanicus dropships. Devourers would arise from the world surface, the twin-decked craft flying gracefully towards the ancient Desolator. Assumedly, to the Mechanicus, they would be craft carrying the carcasses of the Amazonian Guard up to the Inquisitor's vessel.

Adamaris was gone by the time he returned. The situation had been dealt with. He motioned for a servitor to prepare the composition of a letter to Inquisitor Lord Karamazov, stating that the situation had been dealt with. When the final Devourer entered the vessel's hangar bay, the _Eclipse_ would begin to peel away from orbit around the world. It was no longer his problem, and he did have a crusade to run - the Mechanicus forces of Klute's fleet would be more than capable of dealing with any rebellious citizenry or active Necron technology still on the planet's surface. And now that the conflict had been dealt with, any Amazonian Guard who survived the trials would be more warriors to wage the fight against Chaos in the crusade.

A crusade he would soon need to get back to.


	6. Chapter 6

_Heathen Stars, Koronus Expanse, 4 835.061.M42_

The ancient vessel known as the _Duelist of Sedna_ lurked through the fringe of the Heathen Stars, on a mission directed by the Millennial himself. To gain support from forces within the Koronus Expanse, ensuring that the Alpha Crusade would have a place to resupply, the 2nd Battlegroup of the so-called 'Battlefleet Alpha,' forged from the resurrected carcasses of abandoned vessels cast off to the reserve fleets or scrapyards of the Imperium, had come to the Expanse in order to deal with the forces of Chaos that had firmly entrenched themselves in the furthest corners of the great region of space. So it was that the refitted Retaliator, flagship of the 2nd Battlegroup, was on the hunt for a vessel upon which the Navis Nobilite had placed a bounty of immense value upon. That vessel was the rogue Retaliator known as the _Monarch of Whispers_.

The captain of the _Duelist_ , Morena Machtherin, had worked in cooperation with the other half-dozen capital ships in her ersatz force to develop a plan, one which would hopefully lure out the mad Navigator, Ember Nostromo, and her flagship. Running silent, the Grand Cruiser awaited a signal from a lesser ship sent to prowl further into the void - the ancient Murder-class Cruiser _Sequestrian_. Captain Telos, the commander of the cruiser, understood his orders - the vessel was to lure out the _Monarch_ , after which the _Duelist_ would make its move, deploying null mines around the ship to both disrupt Nostromo's connection to the Warp and ensure that her vessel could not easily escape. The firepower of two loyalist vessels would soon reduce the ancient Retaliator to nothing more than scrap.

Patience was key, but even Captain Machtherin had to admit her nerves were further tensing as she waited for a message from the _Sequestrian_. "Perhaps they know we were coming..." She silently muttered to herself, staring out into the void.

"Captain Machtherin!" Telos' voice came over the vessel's comms. "We're under attack! The vessel... it's not the _Monarch of Whispers_!"

"Oh?" Her curiosity was now highly peaked. "Class and identification?"

"Slaughter-class Cruiser. As for identification... Hear it for yourself." Retransmitting the vox-message from the heretical ship, a single word continued to resonate for several seconds before the feed was cut off.

"KILLFRENZY KILLFRENZY KILLFRENZY KILLFRENZY KILLFRENZY KILLFRENZY KILLFRENZY..."

"Status report, Captain!" While unsure as to whether or not it was best to spring the trap, any decision made needed to be determined by the status of the vessel.

"We've unloaded a full plasma fusillade into their starboard flank, but it appears to have done nothing. We're under heavy macrocannon and lance fire. Void shields are at 73% and dropping."

"We'll maintain our distance and ready ourselves to jump to your location if the situation becomes critical. Keep us updated, Captain."

"Will do- another vessel's warped in! Murder-class Cruiser. It's the _Promise of Sedition_! They've warped in on our port-side flank - void shields are dropping rapidly. We won't be able to hold on if they go down."

"Acknowledged." Captain Machtherin responded to her subordinate. "Helm, ready us for the micro-jump. We'll exit the Warp within range of one of the cruisers and reduce them to twisted slag." Her Navigator readied himself, for this moment would require the utmost precision.

The Warp Drives of the _Duelist of Sedna_ soon charged, a rift in the Warp opening for but a split second as the grand voidship traversed hundreds of thousands of kilometers in what seemed to its crew like the blink of an eye. Emerging well away from the battle, the Retaliator was nonetheless in range of the _Killfrenzy_ , lance batteries opening up at range while fighters and bombers emerged from the Grand Cruiser's hangar bays, macrocannon fire supporting the more accurate lances. The unexpected move saw a pulse of energy from one of the lances pierce into the metallic flesh of the Slaughter, small explosions pepper-potting the many wounds in its hull as Abraham Thurst's infamous vessel was wrought with significant internal damage. But as the _Duelist_ moved in to finish off the wounded traitor vessel, a new ship crossed the T behind it - the _Monarch of Whispers_ had arrived on the battlefield.

Located behind the loyalist command ship, the _Monarch_ began to unleash assault boats, complemented by lances and macrocannon rounds that impacted the Retaliator's void shields. The ship attempted to turn and keep pace, but the _Monarch_ maintained its position behind the fellow Retaliator. More fire burst against its ailing rear void shield before a lance burst through, an explosion pockmarking itself in the ship's engines. Assault boats from the renegade ship continued to strike the _Duelist_ 's exposed flanks as heretical sabotage teams rended systems within the vessel. Fires began to rage within its hull as the ship listed dangerously - but even as it did so, Captain Machtheirin looked to even the odds.

With a synchronization of fire that was almost preternatural in origin, the _Duelist_ and the _Sequestrian_ unleashed simultaneous fusillades of fire into the wounded _Killfrenzy_. The crash of lances and macrocannons against its hull further marred the vessel - before a sudden explosion amidships rended it into twin pieces of scrap. A strike on one of the vessel's reactors had caused a catastrophic meltdown, detonating its fusion core with the power of an extraordinarily potent nuclear warhead. Still, there was the _Promise of Sedition_ to deal with, and the heretic Murder was in better shape than the nearly unshielded _Sequestrian_ was, even if it had taken minor damage.

With her ship crippled, and a vessel in her battlegroup under serious threat of destruction, She opened her comm channels. "This is Captain Machtherin. Execute Tertiary Plan Aurek."

At the fringe of the system was a ship long misused by the Imperial Navy. Designed as a fast battleship, the Invincible-class vessel known as _Kischer's Bulwark_ was disposed of in the Segmentum Tempestus reserve fleet, for as it looked like a battleship, it was used as a battleship, despite having the armor of a cruiser at most. Yet the ship's speed was an asset, its firepower more than effective against a weakened cruiser.

Or, as one would find out, a distracted heretic.

 _Kischer's Bulwark_ emerged from the Warp across from the Monarch, its pointed prow aimed towards the flank of the defiled ship. The engines of the fast battleship were overdriven, void shields focused to reinforce the ram's penetrating powers as Captain Marius Vindter ordered his crew to brace for impact. Slowly, the ships moved closer towards one another before an impact became nearly inevitable.

And happen it did. The tip of _Kischer's Bulwark_ practically melted through the weakened void shields of the _Monarch of Whispers_ , energized adamantium gouging an ever deeper crevice in the ancient warship. Its engines flared with righteous fury as it further forced itself through the _Monarch_ , rending apart sections of frame that had remained intact for almost ten thousand years. Fuel lines were severed and electricity cut as the clean thrust was finally stabbed through the heart of the heretical vessel, splinters of ceramite shattering off its ruined sides as the Invincible passed through the wreckage, missing an impact on the _Duelist_ by several meters at most. The fate of Ember Nostromo and the Warp-witch coterie at her command was now known.

The _Promise of Sedition_ seemed to understand that it was now outmatched. Turning away from the wounded Murder, it soon reentered the Warp, leaving the shattered Grand Cruiser to be fired upon by the _Sequestrian_ and _Kischer's Bulwark_ until nothing remained. No bodies floated through the void. Nothing discernible in the form of a ship remained - all that was left was a large field of slagged metal several kilometers across, good only for the purpose of recycling. Nothing of note was left to be salvaged by the more unscrupulous traders in the Expanse.

"Your performance was exemplary, Captain Vindter." Captain Machtherin complimented the Invincible's liege - he was to receive the honor of bringing forth the data to the Navis Nobilite, ensuring that it was verified once and for all that the _Monarch of Whispers_ was nothing more than a pile of slagged metal, the heretic who led it reduced to stellar ash.

"The honor goes to you for planning this out, Machtherin." His minor breach of etiquette was ignored. "I doubt we'd have considered the _Monarch_ wouldn't have shown, not with the juicy morsel out here for that witch to capture. If there's one thing I'm not sure of, though, it's why these vessels were working in concert with one another. Battlefleet Koronus never mentioned any heretic unions out here, aside from that of Iniquity's foul forces. What were these ships doing?"

His comment gave Morena pause. No intelligence reports had ever indicated that the _Monarch of Whispers_ was accompanied by any other renegade vessels - in fact, all information seemed to indicate that Nostromo had preferred assaulting her choice of targets alone, relying on the ship's ample armament to overwhelm smaller ships. Yet to know that such infamously independent ships as the _Killfrenzy_ and _Promise of Sedition_ were willing to ally themselves with her, however temporarily, was a worry. Perhaps they had heard of increased Imperial presence within the Expanse, and wanted to ensure they were not affected. Perhaps they had sworn oaths to foul gods, reveling in one another's malicious company. Or perhaps the reasoning behind their alliance was so impossible for a sane man to understand that it was best not thought of.

Whatever the answer, the vessels of the 2nd Battlegroup would require repair. _Sequestrian_ was in the best shape of the three, having sustained minor hull damage only, though its void shields needed to cool down. _Kischer's Bulwark_ had suffered heavy, but not irreparable, damage to their prow from rending through the Grand Cruiser. It would at least be capable of returning to Footfall under its own power.

The _Duelist of Sedna_ , however, had received severe damage. Its engines were critically damaged, ten percent of the ship's crew was dead, and multiple systems across the vessel were in serious straits. Whether they could be repaired or not were serious questions considering the ship's age. It was likely, even if parts from other derelict Retaliators had to be cannibalized, but such would take time - time that would slow down the Alpha Crusade's reach into the Koronus Expanse.

Yet if there had been a cost, it had been minor. No loyalist vessel had been lost, and many crewmen praised the God-Emperor for their success. Two traitor vessels had been rendered insolvent, their purge of the stars and reigns of terror ended. They would become naught but names in the crumbling parchments of the Adeptus Administratum, of traitor warships long forgotten. Though one had escaped, two destroyed with no loss of an Imperial vessel aside from the repair of the _Duelist_ was a most effective trade-off. Already Captain Machtherin was considering her next command ship, assuming she still remained in charge of the 2nd Battlegroup and did not receive a promotion.

Salvation had grown to become a very real possibility. The heretics within the dark heart of the Screaming Vortex were right to fear an assault from those who had plunged into the Eye of Terror, purging the daemon and the heretic where they were found with little or no care in even the slightest section of the word. Yet the Koronus Expanse had many a threat within it, many a secret to be revealed. The Alpha Crusade had scarcely scratched the surface of what lay within the region. It would take years to learn all there was, time that could be better spent elsewhere.

Yet the mystery was part of the fun. Wasn't it?


	7. Chapter 7

_From the writings of the Testimonio Millenniae, as written by Adept Tahau, 1 147.062.M42_

Throughout the Calixis sector and its contained regions, the Alpha Crusade continued with its procession, utilizing whatever means were available to it to develop bastions within the region. Yet even as it proceeded onwards, the spur of the crusade that now firmly wedged itself within the the region began to slow down. Perhaps it was the realization that there was much heresy to reap. Perhaps other more clandestine reasons were at fault. Yet the influx of men and women who had enmeshed themselves within the Crusade found purpose in their new position - strengthening the foothold of the Imperium in ways scarcely understood even decades after their initial incursion. So much has happened that I find myself forced to write even more volumes, my arms growing weary from their fusion to the quill. As such, I shall keep the discussion brief, with more of the travelings of the Crusade rendered in other volumes that final editions of this tract shall cite.

It was with reluctance that Imperial forces accepted the Millennial's fleet at Scintilla. Claims that an Inquisitorial vessel met the _Eclipse_ in orbit are spurious at the least, but his independent nature was oddly quelled. Reports indicate that he met with those of the Calixian Inquisition in the Tricorn Palace, his presence taken harshly by most and intriguingly by others. All state that he made his rationale clear, that he and the forces with him were to purge the enemies of Mankind and further spread the presence of the Imperium throughout the galaxy. His requests for cooperation were neither accepted nor rejected - while the Calixis Conclave did not stand against him, neither did they as a cumulative body accept him within their fold. Nonetheless, such a concept of further growth stimulated a few Inquisitors - tales of the destruction of daemons, of the conquests against the foul Tyranids by the Adeptus Custodes at Xarran III - and of his meeting with the Master of Mankind.

With such weight behind him, those who wished to act against the young Inquisitor were to wait. Ships from the Crusading fleet soon poured into the sector, ready to acquire the dispossessed and poor who felt they had no need to live. It was here that trouble began, as one of the Lords of Hive Sibellus claimed grand theft by a Crusader of the fleet. Demanding justice(however spurious the claim may have been) in the traditional Scintillan way, he hired the foremost champion of the Bloodsquares, Varrax the Foreboding, to engage the nameless human in a duel to the loss of a limb. Yet his expectations of an easy victory came to naught, for a voice of reason spoke up - an Astartes of the Knights Inductor, who lashed the noble with his tongue on the improper treatment of his fellow man. Despite fighting unarmed, with naught but a suit of scout armor on, he rended the arms and legs of the duelist champion, the burning sensation of his power sword cauterizing the wounds and ensuring that the wriggling torso of Varrax would not be so quick to return to the Square. With but a single moment, the antagonism of the rich was assured.

The visitations of the Millennial upon the capitol of the sector were not limited to its sole hive. Upon hearing that a man who had met the Emperor now stood upon the center of his diocese, a lavish celebration was proclaimed by Cardinal Ignato. Within the nave of the Cathedral of Illumination, the Inquisitor overlooked a sudden sermon that resonated through the mammoth building. He was shown the reliquary of Saint Drusus and, tellingly, was told of several of the venerated general's most well known stories. Little was told of the Millennial's meeting with the Emperor - enough to ensure that the Cardinal viewed him with a degree of respect. At the least, he found Ignato's faith to be sincere.

The journey next took him to Ambulon. Though his travel there was brief and not noteworthy, tech-adepts followed in his wake. Those of the Mechanicus complement within his Crusade learned what information they could about the workings of the ancient crawler, and small tech-conclaves sprouted upon the world's sparse surface, teams of red-robed figures and their servitors working to examine the hulks of the decrepit carcasses nigh-identical to the platform upon which the Hive Worlders rode. Some say that they found information dating to the purpose of the vehicles. Others state that they found conflict with the mutated descendants of whatever humans once used the behemoth machines. Their presence has only grown, though their isolation in the Wilderness precludes involvement in planetary politics.

The gangs of Gunmetal City were under threat. The presence of an aggressive Inquisitor threatened their position, and attacks on members of the Guard regiments who went to the world to acquire weapons were actively suppressed. Soldiers now walk the streets, and gangers have been forced to further hide their allegiance, as Lieutenant Commander Nacht's orders are to shoot on sight any bearing the sigil of a criminal organization. The world's output of weapons has slowly increased - yet rumors abound that the gangs have united, threatening to plunge the valuable forge into all out anarchy as soon as the pressure is released from their necks.

Upon the world of Iocanthos, the balance of power soon subtly shifted. The Vervai, the warlord known as King Skull, began to lose ground to Seth's Army of the Voice. Inquisitorial interference stripped the pious militia of its finest fighters for integration into depleted Guard regiments - though it provided him with weapons deemed broken beyond repair - weapons that served as a source of salvageable parts for the desperate fighters. The landscape was nearly cleared of vehicles, long rusting hulks of former Guard equipment removed for eventual repair and reuse by the Crusaders. Though tenuous, the two warlords seemed to not yet have come to the final battle - one that has yet to be inflicted to this day.

The world of Sepherus Secundus found itself soon split asunder - metaphorically, of course. Queen Lachryma's declaration of the equality of humankind, and her disbanding of the baron-serf system(believed to have been caused by certain discordian Inquisitors, though no reliable source has ever confirmed this), rended the population of the world into a multitude of sects. The serfs soon revolted, assailing their baronial overlords with pickaxes and other crude mining equipment. Their numbers clashed with the superior weapons of the planetary defense forces, who soon turned on the royal palace. What became of the Queen was not immediate - but her monarchy had crumbled, the palace looted by feral bandits and barons looking to further accrue their riches. The intervention of a force of Astartes, identified as the Glacial Wolves, were responsible for the purging of the barons and the world's transition to a more traditionally Imperial form of governing. While the Glacial Wolves are known to have had battle-brothers amongst the crusading forces of the Alpha Crusade, whether their actions were authorized by the Millennial are unknown.

Around the gas giant of 41 Pry, stations for gas mining were constructed in order to fuel the Crusade's need for fusion fuel. Pirate attacks raised in number - but decreased in overall effectiveness as the group of Sword-class Frigates known as _Silver Squadron_ patrolled the area. Several Iconoclast-class Destroyers were claimed by the actions of _Silver Squadron_ , saving many thousands of Imperial lives on board the gas mining stations, but some within the Crusade were agitated that escorts needed to be diverted to guard the void when every ship was needed to assail the Great Enemy.

The world of Cloister found a bastion reclaimed as the Black Templars made the world their base of operations. The mendicant monks who lived an ascetic lifestyle away from the trappings of cancerous society were initially shunned - but soon found homes in the outer regions of the large bastion as their leaders impressed Marshal Ehlert with the devotion they showcased. Thus, they were allowed to remain - though what conditions were placed upon them remain clandestine.

Upon the Crusade's arrival to the Drusus Shrine World known as Sentinel, the Millennial was rumored to have visited the shrine itself. What enlightenment Drusus blessed him with is unknown - all that was known of the supplication he offered to the saint was a necklace made many beetle carcasses, the shells and wings serving as the beads under a thin layer of surprisingly flexible glass fiber. Rumors that the Inquisitor crafted it himself after spending several days hunting down the many insects required to create the necklace seem to go hand in hand with Mechanicus teams scouring the wastes for lost technology.

It was upon the world of Endrite that the Mars-class Battlecruiser _Marder_ was recovered. The wrecked vessel had lain upon the surface of the world for millennia, its arcane technology disturbing the locals and seemingly requesting their veneration. Though the salvage effort took three decades to complete, the _Marder_ eventually lifted off from the planet, whose heretical populace was taken into custody by the Inquisition for reeducation. In their place, a new population was transferred to settle the planet, reaping its resources in the name of the Imperium.

The population of Ganf Magna was at a standstill before the Crusade came. More settlers were transferred to the world, being more heavily armed and capable of finally purging the world of the last few Feral Orks who inhabited the woods. With less focus on their planetary defense, crop outputs from the world increased tenfold. The world soon became relatively important within the sector, serving as a fresh source of fruits and vegetables.

Reports of Imperial vessels around the Dead World of Grangold raised speculation that the Millennial was visiting that world's shrine to Saint Drusus. Sororitas protection was rumored to have replaced the twin Dreadnoughts, who were intrigued by some facet of his appearance. What this may be is as yet unknown, though those who have interacted with him claim as though his arms were like the strongest ceramite. The site grew more visited, of interest in the wayward Inquisitor almost as much as piety towards the Saint.

The corpses of vehicles upon Heed were picked over, but it was the effort to colonize Klybo that drew much attention. Environmentally-sealed colonies sprung up over the decades, finally providing a bastion of humanity on the Death World. Rumors of STC technology upon the planet remained sparse - though no discoveries have been made in the decades since their establishment. The mammoth 'walking creatures' were soon discovered - ancient terraforming devices similar to those long abandoned on Scintilla, in some sort of automated mode. The work's enclave of tech-priests still seeks to access one of the constructs to reap the rewards within.

Despite his alleged kindness, the Millennial's protectiveness of his Crusaders was still blatantly showcased. When the primitive populace of Zillman's Domain burnt at the stake the initial landing party, his response was swift - a regiment of Imperial Guardsmen soon found itself raised against the medieval populace, lasguns cutting down the sword and shield-wielding warriors. Quickly cowed into submission, the king's lasgun was taken from him, degenerating the world's culture into near-anarchy. Reeducation camps were placed upon the world, ostensibly to explain the concept of technology to the populace. Yet it was claimed that other things happened there, things of terrible respite that are best not spoken of.

But it was none of these many things that truly were of note within his time in the Calixis sector. For conflict soon brewed - a clash of antagonizing wills that placed servants of the God-Emperor against one another in such a tenuous battle that threatened to undo all work that had been pushed forward in the former Calyx Expanse since its inception. While only the most well-linked of Adepts could ever write the truth, it was said to have started on the world of Malfi...


	8. Chapter 8

_From the writings of the Testimonio Millenniae, as written by Adept Tahau, 1 147.062.M42_

The world of Mara had, for an extended period of time, remained quarantined by order of the Inquisition. The infamous "Landing Site Massacre" known to have happened there was due to the world being an apparent infernal breeding ground for the monstrous creatures known as Psychneuein. The infernal parasites were noted for their infestation of psykers that had come to the world - yet it was the conceptualizing of a force uniquely designed to handle the foe in question that raised the star of Arianis Vespasian, a former judge of the Adeptus Arbites, within the court of the Alpha Crusade.

The proposal he placed forth was ambitious, requiring a level of cooperation rarely if ever seen within the forces of the Crusade. A select group of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers were to work in concert with Astartes of the Knights Inductor, a group of Skitarii, and a mission of Battle-Sisters from the Order of the Sacred Rose. The cocktail of forces, he proposed, held merit - Inquisitorial Storm Troopers were battle-hardened veterans, unlikely to let the psychic creatures affect their minds. The Knights Inductor were noted for the level of blankness they emanated - a dampening upon the psychic powers of the infernal bugs. Skitarii were more machine than man, and thus mostly immune, while the Sororitas would be guarded by their faith in the Emperor.

It was for this reason that Judge Vespasian was granted the honor of commanding the expedition to the world's surface. Such a variety of forces under one command were unprecedented, yet here he had been granted a degree of power in such a swift manner. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps the Millennial wished to test him. Nonetheless, it was he who landed upon the world in the first dropship.

A likely site for a Psychneuein hive had been located on the world's surface, and such was where the activity of this expeditionary force was focused. The units were relatively homogenized - both to ensure that a variety of responses could be made to any threats that reared their heads and to spread out the null field of the Knights Inductor throughout the party, ensuring that all had an extra layer of protection from psychic assault.

Yet they weren't the sort of prey that these beasts appreciated.

It was there as soon as they stepped foot on the world. All reacted to it in varying ways - storm troopers grimaced, attempting to mentally block out the sound, while the Astartes seemed unaffected. The soldiers of the Machine-God seemed indifferent as well - while the Sisters chose instead to curse the source of the noise with statements that the God-Emperor's wrath would be upon the infernal monstrosities.

As one, they marched, heading further forward into danger. Judge Vespasian grasped _Scion_ , his venerable shotgun, which had been loaded with ammunition specially blessed by a triune of priests from the shrines of Saint Drusus. "Oh mighty God-Emperor - preserve us from the dangers of the alien, the daemon, and the heretic."

Upon their discovery of a large cave, the buzzing grew louder. Its source was now obvious as a horde of perfidious psych-flies exited. Yet their approach was not as blatantly aggressive as the tales told they were. The swarm encircled the warriors, as though it waited to see what they would do next - or waited for a moment of weakness.

A Sister named Teresa was the first target of the Warpspawn. One of the creatures hurtled towards her at breakneck speed, as its stinger ran through her armor, impregnating her side with its poison as the vile ichor worked its way into her system. Though she struggled to stay standing, her chainsword the only support she had, the creature swiftly avoided the strikes of her bolter before grasping her arm in its mandibles and throwing her some several yards. It was far enough that more of the creatures moved in to rend her asunder, her screams resonating even as her soul slowly slipped to the side of the Emperor.

Yet they served to imbue the force with a sense of righteous fury. Astartes battle-cries resonated throughout the air as the Knights Inductor began to aggressively pursue the foul wretches. As bolters blew their material forms away, and the energy of the Warp seeped from their ruined carcasses as only wounds inflicted by a chainsword could, the others grew bolder in their assaults. Skitarii struck with arcane weapons of unnatural precision - Volkites and Radium weapons long lost in humanity's past to all but the red priests of Mars. Inquisitorial Storm Troopers focused fire with their hotshot lasguns, allowing less time to be dedicated towards each flying monster.

The horde soon flew apart. Not only were the creatures slowly corroded away by the intolerant touch of the null field - they were also forced back by the faith of the Sisters who swore divine revenge upon them for the loss of Sister Teresa. And as hell hath no fury like the wrath of a woman scorned, so they advanced with righteous fervor, slaughtering the creatures. They forced their way into the cave and slaughtered the creatures' hives within, as the other Imperial forces purged those Psychneuein outside - yet many appeared to simply disappear. To return to the Warp from whence they came.

This was not the only hive on the world - but it was the first to be successfully purged. Perhaps in time, the Mara mining facility would become safe to operate again, but until then, Judge Vespasian was to remain in charge of the Mara campaign. Though some in the Inquisition voiced complaints of such an active operation on a quarantined world, Lord Inquisitor Caidin ignored them for now - whether such a bold action disturbed or intrigued him, none could tell. Yet for now, he would allow it.

For now.

* * *

 _Hilarion, Hazeroth Abyss, Calixis Sector, ? [DATE CENSORED BY ORDER OF LORD INQUISITOR CAIDIN]  
_

To most, the world of Hilarion had been hardly more than an agri-world, a planet where Land Crawlers traveled amongst continent-sized fields and storehouses to provide the Calixis sector with the basic nutrients its billions-strong population required. On such a monotonous world, little was needed to spark heresy. Yet none could ever have expected the harm that would be caused by such a lack of oversight.

It began with the arrival of a small box at the home of one of the many farmers. The wife of a farmer responsible for the maintenance of several Land Crawlers opened the package - a small thing the size of a jewelry carton, and hinged at the back. As she opened that box, little did she know that the damnation of herself and many within the farm she and her husband worked at was soon at hand.

Within was a small stone, the size of a marble or ball bearing. It was perfectly polished, made of a crystalline material that was of pure darkness. She found it to be exceptionally enamoring, as though it spoke to her on some level. And it did - for this was no ordinary bauble. This was an artifact crafted by the vile Warp-worshipping xenos known as the Yu'vath. Though none of their number remained, the stain they had left on the Calixis sector in the form of seemingly harmless baubles such as these was a furthering of their ancient mission to spread the darkness of the Ruinous Powers.

From that day forward, the nameless farmer woman kept the bauble with her. At first, she merely kept it within a small sack. Soon she fashioned a crude necklace with it as the central charm. A ring soon followed - yet still she desired more intimate contact with the object, to feel a true connection with it. Thus with a smear of stolen industrial adhesive, the charm was placed within her bellybutton, nearly encapsulated by her flesh and free to speak with her as only something touched by the Warp could.

Soon, her body began to change. Terrible pain wracked through her flesh as she began to vomit forth a substance that could only be described as the purest essence of twilight. It stained floors, walls, and objects with a seemingly impossible to remove stain, a blackness that touched whatever it was and clung to it forever. Her eyes became solid black orbs as her flesh began to pale. Yet more changes would be in store.

The farmers began to slowly shirk their duties. Lured by her charmed husband, many came to visit her, falling under the control of whatever charnel creature had claimed her. More of the foul black substance issued from her gullet - the locals began to call it 'umbric ichor,' and those farmers within the region began to venerate it - and her, as though she was some sort of pernicious xenos god come to life. Those whose hearts were fully turned from the light of the Emperor found themselves bathed in the liquid, turned into living shadows who performed the bidding of their leader.

A hunger began to touch her. A hunger for something so unnatural that the last vestiges of her humanity struggled to accept that this would be the next stage in her evolution. Yet when one of her servants offered themselves to her, a willing sacrifice to sate her need, she accepted - his death was agonizing, flesh slowly stripped from his body and given to sate her ravenous appetite. The Midnight Queen, as she was called, continued to feed from the unhallowed meat of man in order to further the goals of the entity that spurred her actions - an entity that visibly gestated within her flesh.

Yet the cult had not been fully obscured. Rumors seeped from the world's spaceport - rumors that attracted an Inquisitor who found rumors of a night cult to be eerily similar to what he had studied for decades. Perhaps this was the evidence he needed to confirm his theories - in any case, it was a rare escape from his base of operations, and he trusted none of his acolytes to handle the matter alone.

So it was that Inquisitor Silas Marr and his acolytes landed upon the world in the dead of night. Through grain turned black thanks to its watering with unholy liquid, they traveled towards the farm, where the sigil of Chaos lay painted upon the wall in a blackness that seemed nearly indistinguishable from whatever paint had been used upon the home.

Within, they found a ritual nearing completion. The Midnight Queen cried out, her bloated abdomen writhing with abandon as whatever malefic monstrosity attempted to manifest itself. Those who had become shadow seemed to dissolve, their darkness wrapping around her. As the Inquisitor raised his power sword, the vile monster burst from her belly, leaving the cult leader upon the ground, umbric ichor pouring from the gaping wound to her stomach as her life passed from her, a husk no longer worth anything in the daemon's plan.

This was the true mastermind of the cult - a daemonic entity long gifted to the Yu'vath by the Dark Gods for their servitude. The Umbric Wyrm. Its form lept towards one of his acolytes, black liquid spattering across his face as he flailed with his chainsword at the creature, writhing through the air like an eel through the ancient seas of Terra. In desperation, he grasped the creature with all his might - as a strike from Silas' blade cleaved both him and the foul creature in two.

Kneeling by the corpse of the Midnight Queen, he sifted through shards of flesh before grasping the bauble within. The entity still was bound to the object - yet heavily weakened. Staring at it, he tore it away from whatever flesh remained. It would be another addition to the Lightless Vaults of the Tricorn Palace. Turning to another of his acolytes, he nodded as they threw an incendiary grenade upon the farm - there would be no trace. The corrupted grain and ground would be sanctified by righteous fire, and no trace of the corruption would remain.

As he muttered a prayer to the Emperor, Inquisitor Marr hoped that there were not more artifacts like the one he now possessed.


	9. Chapter 9

_Vaults of Victory, Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, 8 149.062.M42_

"So." The carapace-armored form of Inquisitor Astrid Skane stood before the engraved adamantium doors before her. "This is your trophy room."

"What can I say? I'm nostalgic." The Millennial, wearing his full suit of armor, helmet and all, stood beside her. "I prefer to keep reminders of the past to help enlighten me as to how I should react to future."

"Interesting." She responded, watching with piercing eyes as the Inquisitor traced an outline within the carvings of the door. With a soft click, the nigh-impregnable latches cracked open, the great guardians of the sacred room moving open to reveal a rather plain hall, the light of torches maintaining whatever illumination they could within the pathway.

"Ladies first." He smirked beneath his helmet. "I know I should've probably asked this earlier, but you're not the sort who'll attempt to slaughter me for my trophies like some... others may do, are you?" His demeanor became somewhat more serious.

Astrid shook her head. "We all have things best left untouched. You're not the only Inquisitor in the Calixis sector with such a collection, I'm sure."

He nodded, stepping through the doorway to examine the treasures within. Some were items acquired on the so-called Cold Trade market, fragments of Eldar wraithbone or alien statuary preserved inside of reinforced cases, each coated with a rare ion shield to preserve its contents from being stolen by thieves. Deeper within the collection were more exotics - the fragment of the _Black Blade of Angron_ captured on Armageddon, still encased within the cube of glass, as well as Devram Korda's helmet. A Prognosticaon lay within another case, a Ryneite Murder-Cogitator and the slagged carcass of a False-Men in yet another within the enclave, its chest completely blown off and a hole through its guts exposing several loose wires hanging from within.

"There's much I've found over the years." His hands ran over a case containing a particularly lethal Schismatical that had been isolated and trapped inside a disabled cogitator, ion fields crackling at his touch. "Press that button back there." He motioned to a case that held only a screen and a button outside of the case. Astrid looked over and, finding nothing of interest, pressed the button - only for the face of a long-dead Primarch to stare back at her.

" _Your presence does not surprise me, Assassin. I have known of you ever since your craft entered the Eastern Fringes. Why did I not have you killed? Because your mission and the act you are about to commit proves the truth of all I have ever said or done. I merely punished those who had wronged, just as your false Emperor now seeks to punish me. Death is nothing compared to vindication._ "

The camera moved forwards towards the naked, monstrous form of before crackling into nothingness. Astrid stepped back, raising an eyebrow. "How did you get this?"

"Asked for a copy. It's digital data, after all - it can be copied nigh-infinitely." He shrugged. "I follow a school of thought I prefer to call Disciplinarianism. I believe my acolytes should be trained with the best knowledge of our enemies and their many past strategems. They should know the truth - that the most devoted individual can be twisted by corruption. And that those many call gods can be slain. We are Inquisitors, and the knowledge of the past should be a guide to our actions in combating the enemies of Mankind. Faith and feelings can only go so far."

He turned, eyes darting between a legless Mech-Spider and a Bone Flute. "Ah. The Men of Iron." He paused, standing before a case containing a Goleph, surgically dissected into its six major sections, nigh-perfect except for its gashed torso. "AI running wild. That's what you get when machines that can think for themselves end up getting corrupted to Chaos." Passing an Oblivion Volitor whose prongs were laden with desiccated brain matter, he motioned to a heptagram engraved on a piece of metal clearly torn from some sort of breastplate. "They call this an 'Immateria Ward.' I ripped it off the chestplate of a Tzeentchian sorcerer. It was glowing then, but hasn't glowed since I acquired it."

"Do you use any of this?" Astrid's words rang throughout the ill-lit chamber. "Have you used any of this?"

"No." His response was swift as he eyed a Rubric Marine, one taken many years ago. "I recognize that everything in here is irredeemably corrupt and would only bring trouble to me and my acolytes if it was utilized. By my studies, I know what is beyond the capability of being cleansed, and what is capable of being purged of corruption. A bolter, for example, stolen from an armory and used by a Chaos cultist for a short period of time, is minimally corrupt. It can be cleansed and put back to work in the service of the Imperium. A weapon possessed by a daemon in the hand of one of the most powerful Chaos champions may have its corruption weakened, but it will never be truly purified. I taught the Erinyes this, which is why they've reclaimed so much war material and denied much more to those heretics in the Eye of Terror."

"And what sort of cleansing rituals are performed?" Astrid raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Is the traditional blessing not enough?"

"No." He responded. "I recall watching them dip a bolter reclaimed from Chaos Space Marines in a vat of boiling oil and sacred incense. They lit it on fire to burn away the corruption. By the end of it, the Librarian overseeing the process sensed nothing from the weapon except for the scent of burning promethium."

"Tell me about the Pilgrimage of Ruin." She seemingly ignored his response.

With that, the Millennial froze in place. "...how do you know about that?"

"I have my ways. I have no desire to end you, but I must know why you went there." She responded.

"Ordinarily, I would be overtly suspicious - but you've seemed a respectable Inquisitor from what I've heard. So very well..."

* * *

 _Death Guard Fortress-Monastery Ruins, Barbarus, 6 464.040.M42_

The world of Barbarus had, for almost ten millennia, been nothing more than a lifeless ruin. Scoured by Imperial orbital bombardments, the planet had been declared Perdita by order of the then-recently created Inquisition. Its secrets had been preserved amidst the toxic atmosphere, the wreckage of scavenging ships laid low upon its treacherous landscape. Where there had once been a fortress-monastery, now there was but but a charred ruin.

It was for this reason that the Millennial had come to the world - the ancient ruins split asunder lay untouched, with the most intriguing of treasures lying within. Following him were a group of Terminator-armored Astartes, their crimson armor tarnished by the harsh air as they traveled across the forbidding landscape.

"How much further shall we travel before making camp?" One of the Terminators eyed the Millennial as they continued to travel through the ruins.

"We'll know when we get there." Silently he thanked whoever had created power armor - without it, he would've been incapable of walking for as long as he had. "This pilgrimage was done for your benefit, to put to rest the daemons of your forebears and give you the sense of righteousness they once had, before the lure of Chaos came upon them. You deserve something... from better times." He sighed before coming across the depths of their fortress's most sacrosanct chamber, a sputtering door panel signs of past entry from before.

The Astartes of the Reaper's Disciples readied themselves, Indomitus-armored Terminators grasping their power scythes at the sight of the sparking console. "Fuck... someone's been here. Battle formation!" The Inquisitor raised his weapons, grimacing as he looked around. "Maybe scavengers of a bygone age. I don't know. There has to be some sort of reason." He moved further within the building, Reaper Lords behind him.

"This place is cursed. Why would one return to this damned world?" One commented.

"Likely because the lure of something was too great to be ignored." Another responded. "Even through the declaration of quarantine, even through the Imperial ships patrolling this - whoever came here either had the highest clearance directly from the Inquisition or the High Lords, or was mad enough to come to this world out of some deluded form of insanity that gnawed away at their rational being until nothing was left."

As if to answer them, a long, sparking tendril of mechanical rust crossed the ground, rearing up in hatred as it flung itself towards the Millennial, wrapping itself around him before giving a horrific screech. Unraveling its daemonic form from his sanctified armor, it reared up towards one of the Reaper Lords, who attacked it with his power scythe that it wrapped around and began to rust away. Though the blade remained intact, the handle began to crumble as the creature grew snug about it. Eventually, it could no longer hold together and snapped in half, the creature looking for another target as storm bolter rounds sprayed against it rather ineffectively.

"Fuck... it's a rust monster!" The Millennial raised his power maul, flailing it at the dextrous daemon. "I thought this shit only existed in tabletop... Don't let it touch you, or your armor will be fucked!"

It was then that a Reaper's Disciple raised his Power Fist, grasping the head of the daemonic entity and crumpling it with a tight grasp before smashing the agonized monstrosity against the ground several times and throwing it against a wall. The corroded imprint of the monster against the wall was quite visible as it fell to the ground, weakly writhing before being consumed in a burst of foul green Warp flame, leaving naught left but the wall imprint and the rusted shaft of the broken Power Scythe.

As the party walked further into the ruins, it became apparent what the metal was from. Still clad in dilapidated red robes that were ultimately threadbare, their shriveled up and mummified bodies were preserved relatively well by the bog-like atmosphere of the world. But of these corpses, one thing was missing - their implants. Of the several within, some had more corrupt bodies than others - while one stood near the back, hand raised over his robe.

"Turned on each other?"

"The madness on this world would overwhelm even the most rational of Mechanicus adepts." Brother Verd spoke up. "What they were doing here will be found in due..." He trailed off, noticing at the rear of the ruins that there was a glowing light which seemed to still be shining.

They traversed closer to find an odd sight - a Power Scythe, clearly once of ample quality. Filigree of gold was obstructed by corroded metal, which had long worn down the original shaft. The power field was still intact, identifying it as an M31 Deathshroud power scythe. The handle was broken in half - not by deterioration, but by the strong hands of a suit of Cataphractii armor.

"Perhaps someone broke an oath." Verd commented. "This weapon has no reason to be here except as some sign of defiance."

Grasping the broken part of the handle close to the head of the power scythe, the Millennial examined the weapon closely. "Hmm..." He paused. "Yes. A pure relic from a corrupt legion. By the power invested in me as a member of the Holy Inquisition, I hereby present you with this fragment of your past, a small sliver of an artifact to be recreated and reforged at your behest. Once more shall it serve against the enemies of mankind - the enemy within, the enemy without, and the enemy beyond."

 _"Such was how the Pilgrimage of Ruin began. Yet acquiring something of the past for a single chapter was not enough. I had to go further..."_


End file.
